lady and the tramp
by sheriff stilinski
Summary: Hey Beck, I heard sequels never beat the original. BeckTori


Title: lady and the tramp

Summary: Hey Beck, I heard sequels never beat the original. BeckTori

Author's Note: Wish I could be a nice person and make happy endings but I'm bitter.

/

He sees her after coming out of a dingy club. He's admittedly wasted and he's still giddy from the tab of ecstasy he took, but when he sees her, he knows it has to be Tori Vega teetering on those tall heels. He calls her name and almost immediately, she takes off, surprisingly quickly for a girl wearing eight inch heels. However, he catches up with her in an equally surprising spurt of energy from the ecstasy and hugs her.

She melts into his embrace, and he suddenly can feel the sadness radiating off of her. Sadness is worse to feel when high, because Beck feels hers throughout himself: in his toes, in his bones, in his lips, in his soul. He decides then that he will fix her. He will not let go of her again. He will make her happy again.

"Let me go, Beck," she whispers.

She has to knee him in the balls before he lets her go. She runs, and only then does he realize what she's wearing.

Tori Vega, the beautiful girl featured in most of his high school sex dreams, is a prostitute.

/

He thinks about her for weeks after that. He'll be at home, smoking a joint, and then suddenly, he'll imagine her face. Sometimes she'll be naked, but other times, she'll be smiling at him with her old shit eating grin. Other times, he'll picture her in the kitchen, making breakfast. (Sometimes, he pictures her wearing only an apron, but.)

It almost becomes an obsession. He'll think he sees her on the street, wearing the dress she wore the night he _almost_ kissed her again in high school. He'll picture her face on every body of every girl he fucks, aching for the stranger's touch to be _hers_.

He decides, three weeks after seeing her, that he has to find her. Maybe he'll just pay for a night with her, just to get her out of his head. He drives on the same corner, and even though it's drizzling, she's there, wearing a dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. When he stops, she smiles and approaches the car, her whole body shaking from the cold.

"Do you want me, big boy?"

He opens the door and she gets in. When she sees his face, she pretends she doesn't even know him. Maybe it's a technique to keep her sane, but he can see how scared she is through her doe-like eyes. He takes her to his place, and as soon as he hands her the money, she is unfastening his shirt while kissing him. He feels delirious, higher than any drug could make him. He is speechless, he is excited, he is terrified.

When he reaches to pull her dress off of her, she flinches away. She takes it off, and he finds it sad to see the bruises, to see her shoulder blades popping out like baby bird wings.

She mumbles, "Don't touch me, okay? It's kind of a part of the rules."

He wants this to be special. He wants to make her scream for him. He wants her to be his high school sweetheart. He wants to fuck her into the sheets until he gets her out of his mind. Instead, she pushes him onto his bed and takes his dick in her mouth.

In his dizzy, lusty haze, he comes to the conclusion that her mouth is prettier around his dick. He knows that it isn't poetic, nor romantic, which he prided himself on being in high school, but he can not deny how true it is. The image of Tori Vega on her knees for him would never leave the back of his eyelids. Her pretty little fingers stroking him would never be forgotten. The smell of her perfume would never leave his nostrils. If he could, he would relive this one moment for the rest of his life.

However, the moment is broken when she pulls away. At the loss of her mouth against his dick, he feels intensely alone. Her dull eyes meet his disappointed, needy ones, and she practically spits out the words that brings him to realize truly how sad his life has become.

"I can't do this, Beck."

He gets up, his erection straining and making him feel increasingly embarrassed and uncomfortable. "Tori, babe, what's wrong?"

Surprisingly, instead of feeling anger, he feels the unfamiliar feeling of concern. Strangely, he wants to know why there is an invisible tear at the corner of her eye or why she has her arms crossed over her cheap lingerie.

"B-Beck," she stutters, "Oh, Beck. Here, take the money back. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I can't. I'm so sorry."

As she thrusts the hundred dollar bills onto the bed, the invisible tear falls, bringing countless with it. Beck grabs her wrist, mind clearing and fingers reaching out to catch the tears.

"Don't be sorry, Tori. Keep the money. Stay with me."

There is something pathetic about the whole scenario. To choose who was most pathetic of the two would be a tough decision. There was Beck, a once idolized actor, begging the one girl who got away to stay with him. There was Tori, once the most beautiful girl of Hollywood Arts, a girl thought to have so much ahead of her, with only a suitcase of lingerie to her name, given by her pimp. How very sad to see such beautiful people with _such potential_ fall to such a sad life.

Her eyes meet his from under her crooked, self-cut bangs before climbing back into bed. She spends the night crying in his arms, remembering high school – before the needles and the meaningless sex, before being degraded every night, before the bruises and the tight skirts that didn't make her shine. Beck kisses her forehead and tells her that: _it's okay, i'll take care of you._

Later that night, she finishes the blow job she didn't finish. Old habits die hard.

/

The next morning, she wakes up in an empty bed. She hears him though, on the phone with someone about an audition. She tries to gather her skimpy clothes, but he walks in before she can make a run for it. He hangs up the phone and sits on the bed, his eyes surprisingly sharp and focused on her. She tries to open her mouth, but he stops her.

"I was serious, Tori. I want you to stay."

Her dull eyes search his face, and suddenly, she feels entirely naked. She covers herself with her arms, like she did last night. She sits with him on the bed and drops her arms. So many bruises litter her beautiful body. He trails his fingers over them and thinks that he is probably breaking every rule in the prostitute handbook.

"I'm not going to ask you why," he says low under his breath, "I just want to let you know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what you've had to go through."

She kisses him, her naked body pressed against his, making all those daydreams come true. He wants her to stay there forever, let all the bruises heal over and bring the joy back to her eyes.

She moves back and tells him, "I'm not going to be your fucking Julia Roberts."

He pulls her onto his lap and kisses her silly, and even though she has stopped being _Tori Vega_ a very long time ago, she thinks of diamond necklaces and romantic comedies.

They sit around all day smoking joints and playing board games. He makes her lemonade like he used to in high school, and it tastes so much better with his top quality weed. She laughs for the first time in ages, and they go to sleep happy. He kisses her forehead goodnight.

She realizes, when she's on the verge of sleep, that she didn't even fuck him.

/

Two days later, she wakes up crying. Her body aches, her forehead burns, and she's so very cold. The clock reads 4:32, and she's in so much pain that she wants to die. She stumbles out of bed and into the bathroom, where she stains his pretty bathroom with her vomit.

She's never been away from her needles to experience this, and she remembers all the words of advice from her friends about what happens.

God, she's so pathetic, she thinks. Her only friends are prostitutes and her best friend is a drug and what is she doing here, pretending to be Tori Vega with Beck Oliver – oh my fucking God, she needs it she is dying she needs it someone please please please.

"Tor," he says sleepily from the other room, "What's wrong, babe?"

He walks into the dimmed bathroom and sees her in tears, holding herself. It's possibly the saddest thing he's ever seen, and he sits next to her and holds her, even though she complains that it hurts – that everything hurts.

He promises to make it go away, to remove all the pain from her bones.

God, does she need it – she needs something, anything – Beck, _please_.

She gives him her dealer's phone number.

/

He wears sunglasses and a hoodie. Tori almost laughs when she sees him because _God Beck do you have to be that obvious_ but the pangs throughout her body render her bedridden and silent.

"I'm sorry you need this," Beck says, pushing up his sunglasses and touching her face with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry you needed to be numb."

Tori wants to say something about the principles of hypocrisy, but she can't.

As she watches him go, she realizes that her happy ending was long since passed on to another girl.

/

Beck sits in a dingy diner and waits for his waiter to come. The waiter has a tooth missing, three fingers adorned with gold rings, and an old bruise on his collarbone, which protrude from his chest. Beck wonders if the man catches water when it rains.

The whole exchange takes three minutes, tops. Beck drinks his coffee in silence after and tries to ignore the dainty noises when he moves his bag. He draws a cartoon character on the back of his paper place mat and makes a speech bubble that says _what way do I go now?_

When enough time has passed, Beck collects his things and leaves a tip. He leaves the cartoon character and his half empty mug and wonders when he started considering it to be half empty rather than half full.

/

Tori locks herself in the bathroom with the needles as soon as he gets home.

He hears her crying from outside the door, but does not say any comforting words – just listens, instead.

/

One day, Beck returns home from an audition to find Tori's gone. She took his BluRay and thirty bucks from his sock drawer.

_We were never going to be those people again, _she wrote on the chalkboard in his kitchen.

He never used it like his interior decorator said he would. She was a bitch, anyway.


End file.
